Joke's On Me
by GarryxMrChairFan
Summary: Everyone but him could see the punchline coming from a mile away - it was such an old joke. FrUK, Barverse AU; inspired by "A Guy Walks Into A Bar" by Tyler Farr.


_**Joke's On Me**_

GarryxMrChairFan

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><p>.<p>

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Inspired by _A Guy Walks Into A Bar_ by Tyler Farr.

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The raucous laughter coming from his friends made Francis want to cringe at the joviality, and he just managed a small upturn of his lips before it slipped away once again as he sipped at the dark red wine in his hand. Gilbert looked ready to fall out of his seat as he gripped his sides, and Antonio had his head on the table as he snickered at the jokes that they were passing back and forth in their inebriation.

"Oh, man, that was _brilliant!_" Gilbert wiped the tears from his eyes, his hissing laugh still falling from his lips.

Antonio gasped, his smile wide. "_Si, amigo~_ I've never heard that one before! _Dios,_ that was funny!"

Francis forced a short chuckle, his smile strained as he glanced away. His chest was too tight.

"Oh! I heard another one just the other day!" Gilbert exclaimed, picking up his beer and taking a swig. His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled dangerously in the neon lights of the bar. "It was _gold,_ I tell you! And that's saying something coming from the Awesome Me!"

Antonio sucked in one more breath, his shoulders still shaking in laughter. Francis simply held his glass closer to his face, waiting. "What was it, Gil? Lay it on us!"

Gilbert grinned, setting his drink down and leaning forward, placing his hand on the wooden table. "Okay, okay! So it goes:—"

Francis had a bad feeling about this one, and he didn't know why.

"A guy walks into a bar…"

_The night was cool, the breeze pleasant on his face as he walked up to the doors, humming brightly under his breath as he entered languidly and sauntered up to the counter, tossing his blond hair over his shoulders as he slid smoothly onto a stool. _

_The atmosphere was thick with intoxication, a haze hanging in the air around him, the low lights making him feel lazy and blissfully fatigued. Neon signs hung from above the bar, advertising different brands of alcohol as they flashed in patterns, and music played quietly from speakers in the corners, some upbeat classic rock song that he was sure he'd heard on the radio on his way to work. The sounds of clinking bottles and the crack of the pool cue made for perfect background noise as a bartender made her way over to him, drying a glass in her hands. _

"Orders a drink…"

_"What can I get you tonight, handsome?" Her smile was sultry, her gaze appreciative, and he chuckled and winked. _

_"Something smooth and expensive, _ma chéri?" _he asked, setting his chin on his palm. "It's been a very good night and I'm feeling quite content." _

_She laughed and nodded, turning away. "Coming right up, dear." _

_He turned away with another wink, leaning back against the bar and observing the patrons as he waited for his drink. The bar was only about half full, though it was a workweek night and still early yet. Many of the booths situated around the perimeter were filled with groups of young university students, all laughing and joking about, while the tables scattered throughout were the homes to the older men come in for a reprieve, a place to drown their troubles. _

_He let his gaze continue to wander as the bartender brought him his drink, thanking her with a smile before turning his attention back to the crowd. His sipped delicately at the fine wine she had chosen, smirking at how well she knew him, letting the taste settle on his tongue before sliding with ease down his throat. He continued to savor it as he glanced absently around, turning his watchful eyes to the bar where they paused in interest. _

"Sees a girl who catches his eye…"

_The man looked young, possibly a few years younger than himself, with untamed hair the color of wheat and a face flushed quite enticingly as he stared into his own drink. In the dim light, he couldn't quite make out the man's eye color, but he could definitely appreciate the curve of his body as he sat hunched over the bar, his tight jeans clinging to lean legs and his shirt pulled taut over slender muscles in his chest and arms. A chain or two hung from his belt, and as he looked, he was sure he could see the outline of a lip ring jutting from plump lips pulled down in a grimace. _

_He felt his lips pull up in a smirk as he observed the young man tilting the glass around before throwing it back and setting it down with a muted _thump_, a long breath escaping him. Taking one more sip from his glass of wine, he stood, making his way over to the empty stool to the man's side and sliding onto it gracefully, setting his drink down on the bar top and placing his chin once again in his palm. The man didn't bother looking up. _

_"Rough night, _chère_?" _

_"Piss off, frog." _

_He chuckled at the slurred insult. "Ah, of course. Should've known you were English." Such a sad discovery, really. "What with the punk getup and all." _

_The young man turned to him then, and he was stunned by the bright green eyes now glaring at him. "What do you want, git?" His accent was thick, though not intimidating in the slightest. "I don't want anything to do with you." _

"Asks her if she wants another…"

_He simply smiled, taking a sip of his wine. "Gin and tonic, _oui?"_ he asked pleasantly, gesturing to the bartender with one hand, seeing her smile and nod in acknowledgement as she goes to grab another glass. _

_The young man looked dumbfounded, and he found it quite cute. "H-How— Why?" He was frowning up at him, narrowing his eyes again, and he felt his heart flutter at how bright the green glowed beneath the neon light of the signs. _

_"Because I find you interesting, _chère," _ he replied easily, sipping his wine. "I'd like to get to know you." _

_The young man appraised him silently, a frown remaining on his lips as the bartender set another drink in front of him. A moment of silence passed between them before he shrugged and grabbed his drink, his lips turning up into a smirk. "Arthur." _

_He smiled smugly, tilting his head in greeting. "Francis." _

"They fall for each other and end up lovers…"

_Hands are moving all over him as he stumbles through the door to his apartment, soft lips hungrily attacking his in almost a panic, Arthur's tongue doing things inside his mouth that he hadn't thought possible until then. His shirt was tugged at, nimble fingers expertly undoing the buttons and caressing down his chest simultaneously as he was shoved against a wall._

_His own hands wandered over Arthur's lean chest, feeling their way down his band tee and hovering around the hem a moment before sliding up under the frayed fabric, sliding slowly over the soft skin of the Englishman's abdomen and smiling at the moan he received as his fingers brushed a seemingly sensitive patch of skin. He tilted his head back as Arthur broke the kiss, instead placing kisses along his neck and jawline, feeling the Englishman push his shirt off his shoulders and head immediately to his belt. _

_Fingers tangled in his hair as he pushed back, picking Arthur up, feeling his slender legs wrap around his waist as he staggered through the living area and down the hall to his bedroom, their mouths once again connected in a heated kiss that left him gasping for air as he fell with Arthur onto his bed, the Englishman's green eyes looking up at him with open want and desire, glazed with intoxication. _

_"I have to admit," Arthur panted, a slow smirk spreading on his lips as he let him pull his shirt off and toss it across the room, "as much as it pains me, the French do know how to kiss." _

_He smirked. "We are the people of love, _chère."_ He leant down over Arthur, pressing their bare chests together and capturing kiss-swollen lips again, breaking only at the low moan escaping Arthur at his touch. "Let me show you just what we're capable of." _

_Arthur gazed up at him, cheeks flushed and sweat matting his blond hair, his tongue licking over his red lips and lingering to mess enticingly with his piercing. His eyes smoldered in the light of the moon from the window beside the bed. "Alright then," he allowed. His smirk never left. "Make me scream." _

_And who was he to disappoint?_

"They laugh…"

_Arthur's eyes twinkled as he held back his laughter, his lips pressed together in a thin line to restrain the musical sounds that he had come to enjoy, though not necessarily at his own expense. _

_He stood, blinking rapidly, unable to process what had just happened. One moment, he was breaking eggs and mixing them into the flour for the cake batter, and the next he was covered in it all! He glanced down at the machine he held, the mixers covered just as he was, the batter now dripping in congealing masses over the countertop. _

_His eyes narrowed as he turned them to Arthur, who was now bending at the waist and breathing heavily through his nose to keep back his chuckles. "I fail to see the hilarity in this," he hissed petulantly. "It's completely _ruined!"

_Apparently, that's what Arthur had been waiting for, as his musical voice erupted in peals of delighted laughter, nearly keeling over onto the floor as he attempted to breathe through his guffaws. "Oh my _God,_ Francis!" He fell back into snickers, holding his sides. "Your _face!"

_He was unamused, huffing as he crossed his arms and stared at the mess that was now his kitchen. "Yes, yes, _hilarious,"_ he grumbled, bringing a hand up to his hair and immediately whining. _"_It's even in my_ hair!"

_That just made Arthur laugh harder, and now he was pouting. "This is a serious crisis, _rosbif!" _he bemoaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. "My hair is awful and your cake is _ruined. Ruined!"

_Gaining his breath and chuckles dying out, Arthur walked over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on his shoulder, pressing sweet kisses to his batter-stained cheek. "It's not the end of the world, love," he cooed gently, a smile still on his face. "We'll get you cleaned up and you'll make it again." He felt the Englishman shrug. "It'll be alright." _

_Slumping against Arthur, he let a long huff escape his lips. "But my _hair…"_ he insisted with a pout. _

_Arthur just rolled his eyes, coming to stand in front of him and cup his face. "Yeah, it's a right mess," he chuckled, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his jutted lip. "But you've still got the most gorgeous hair I've ever seen, covered in cake batter and all." _

_He scoffed, a small smile tilting his lips. "Your cake is still all over me, though." He sighed despondently._

_Arthur's smile only widened, and he slid a finger through the batter on his cheek, putting it in his mouth and sucking suggestively. "I fail to see how that's a problem." The Englishman grinned widely with a wink as he removed his finger, moving his arms around his neck and kissing him again. "And it really is hilarious." _

_He chuckled this time, wrapping his arms around Arthur's slim waist and pressing their foreheads together. "I suppose it is, _chère. _But still…" He looked away and then back, his smile turning into a smirk. "Would you like to help me clean up in the shower?" _

_Arthur's answering smirk did things to his heart. "I thought you'd never ask." _

"Cry…"

_He jumped as the door to his apartment slammed into the wall, nearly dropping the tray of cookies he was putting into the oven. He shook his head, finishing his task and closing the oven, setting the timer before wiping his hands of the sugar and flour from the batter and turning to see Arthur storming into the living room, falling onto the couch with a _whump!,_ his feet hanging off the armrest. _

_He frowned in concern, walking slowly to the edge of the kitchen. "Arthur, _chère? _What's wrong?" _

_No response. _

_His frown deepened and he walked over to the sofa, looking down on the blond head of hair buried into the cushions. "Arthur? Please, _chère, _I can't help if I don't know what's bothering you." _

_As he stood waiting for an answer, he could just make out the sounds of muted sniffling, and his eyes widened as he watched the Englishman's shoulders begin to shake with restrained crying. Immediately, he came around the side of the sofa, gently reaching for Arthur's shoulders and managing to wrangle him into a sitting position, seeing the streaks falling down flushed cheeks, his lip trembling as he tried to blink the tears away. He sat beside Arthur, pulling him into an embrace, running his fingers through soft hair as Arthur leant into his shoulder, gripping his shirt tightly in a clenched fist. _

_"Shh," he soothed, pressing kisses to the Englishman's temple. "I'm right here, _chère. _Shh." _

_He waited a long moment as Arthur's heavy breathing regulated, though his shoulders still shook. The Englishman's tears were silent as he glanced out into the room, unseeing as he held onto him. "He's gone, Francis," Arthur finally murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "He's gone and I didn't even get to say goodbye." _

_His own eyes were tearing up as he realized what Arthur meant, pulling the small form even closer to him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, _chère." _He buried his face into Arthur's hair. "When did he…?" _

_"This morning," Arthur replied quietly. "Doctors said he went peacefully, in his sleep." He chuckled humorlessly. "Mum's strong as ever, though. Kept her cool even though we all knew she was breaking apart inside. Alistair's with her and Peter tonight. James and Dylan are coming in tomorrow." _

_He wasn't sure what to say, so he simply nodded and continued holding Arthur, both of them sitting in silence and listening to the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Eventually, the timer sounded, and he excused himself to remove the hot tray with the homey aroma of sugar cookies to the stove to cool, though his appetite for sweets was gone. He gazed at Arthur, slumped back on the sofa, his head tilted back and staring absently at the ceiling. _

_It tugged at his heart to know he couldn't do anything to make it better, at least then, and he settled for carefully pulling the Englishman to their bedroom, helping him undress and lying beside him as he drifted into a restless sleep, carding his long fingers through wheat-blond hair. _

_The tears had run out by the time of the funeral a week later. _

"Hold on tight and make it work for a little while…"

_The night was peaceful as they sat outside, the slight breeze cool against their faces and the only sounds that of the slight rustle of leaves and the quiet chirping of the crickets as they gazed at the expanse of indigo sky sequined with twinkling stars. On the horizon, the sun had long since fallen and the city was in bright contrast to the inky darkness, the buildings lit like candles. _

_Arthur sat against one side of the porch swing, feet propped over his own stretched legs and a book in his lap as the Englishman read in the soft porch light. A cup of tea sat cooling on the glass table next to him, while he himself nursed a glass of wine, his hand massaging gentle circles into his partner's thigh, a small smile on his lips. _

_It was silent for another brief moment before he heard Arthur sigh and the soft _thump_ as he closed his book and set it aside on the table. He glanced over at the Englishman, watching with a raised eyebrow as the blond shifted around, pulling his feet back and swinging them off the seat to scoot closer and lean his head against his shoulder, curling into his side. He smiled wider and let his arm fall around Arthur's shoulders, holding him close and running his fingers through the blond's short hair, massaging his scalp languidly. _

_Arthur tilted his head back, looking up at him with a smile and half-lidded eyes, and he smiled as he leant down, meeting the Englishman halfway. Their kisses had slowed from the first few they'd shared, less frantic, becoming deeper and more intense with each press of lips. Their hands had stopped grasping for purchase in wild abandon, instead simply caressing and tangling together, holding tight. He'd come to find that simply sitting with Arthur as he was, hand held tightly by the Englishman as they pressed easy kisses to each other's lips, was something he enjoyed immensely; it was so easy, so simple, and he grinned at the flutter in his chest as he pulled away, gathering Arthur into his arms and just holding him. _

_Arthur tucked his head into his neck, sighing contentedly as he gazed back out at the horizon. "The stars are bright tonight," he commented lightly, his green eyes roving over the sky. _

_He chuckled. "Yes, they are," he agreed, setting his chin on Arthur's head. "_Magnifique, non?"

_"Quite." _

_The silence was comfortable, and it wasn't long before Arthur drifted off, his soft snores filling the light breeze. He smiled and shook his head fondly, settling back and sipping on his wine once again as the Englishman slept against his chest, the swing rocking back and forth ever so slightly as he flexed his foot against the ground. _

"Then one night her taillights fade out into the dark…"

_He kicked the door open with his foot, struggling under the weight of the bag of groceries in his arms as he walked into his apartment. He called out a greeting, tossing his keys on the table by the door and shutting the door with his foot again before heading to the kitchen. The silence that met him was slightly off-putting, but he shrugged it off and hummed as he emptied the contents of the bag to the counters. _

_He glanced up as Arthur ran through the flat, looking determinedly around as if searching for something, ignoring his call to the Englishman and instead gathering his articles of clothes that had decorated the floor. He assumed Arthur must have his iPod in, listening to his music while doing laundry as he was wont to do when bored, but Arthur bypassed the small laundry room for his room, taking the clothes with him. _

_He blinked, narrowing is eyes in mild concern. Arthur wasn't one to ignore him if he weren't upset, and his breathing quickened as he wondered what he'd done to make the Englishman mad. It was true that Arthur had become a bit more withdrawn over the last couple of weeks, but he'd brushed it off as work stress— he knew Arthur's boss was a complete jackass that loved piling the work on the poor blond, so it wasn't hard to think that was the reason— though it seemed it was something else entirely as he watched Arthur search through the rooms, carrying his things into the bedroom. _

_He frowned, finishing with the groceries and making his way slowly to the living room, standing with his arms crossed next to the sofa. Arthur came down the hall, looking down at his phone as he walked by him and into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and taking out his tea set. Arthur turned and walked back to the bedroom, and he stood silently for several minutes before heading to the bedroom, standing in the door as he watched wide-eyed as Arthur packed his bags. _

_"Is there something I'm missing?" he asked, irked. "A trip I don't know we're going on?" _

_Arthur ignored him, folding the final few pairs of trousers and packing them into the suitcase. He closed it with a resounding _click!_ and grabbed the handle, throwing the backpack that held toiletries and other small knickknacks over his shoulder. Arthur turned, sparing a brief glance at him before shouldering past him into the hall. Baffled at the unusual treatment and feeling his stomach sink in a slow realization, he followed Arthur to the front. _

_"Arthur, talk to me! What's going on, _chère?_ What are you doing?" _

_"I thought it was quite obvious, Francis." The Englishman's clipped tone shocked him, and he took a step back. "I'm leaving." _

_"Leaving?" _

_Arthur turned to face him, his green eyes burning as he stared at him for an endless moment. "I can't do it anymore," he finally murmured, looking away and running his free hand through his hair. "I just… I can't, Francis." _

_"Can't do _what?"_ He was trying to keep it together, but his heart was pounding and he was starting to feel slightly lightheaded. They'd been just fine; nothing had even tipped him off that Arthur was feeling this way, that he was thinking of— of _leaving_. What was Arthur _saying?_ He was— he was _done?_ With _what?_ With _them?_ "I don't understand, _chère,_ was there something I did? Or _didn't_ do?" _

_He'd never felt this way about anyone before. He'd never wanted someone as much as he'd wanted Arthur, had never wanted what he had with Arthur more than he did at the moment, _with Arthur.

_Arthur shook his head. "It's not— bloody hell, that's so fucking cliché, but it's not you, Francis—"_

_"Really?" he spat, his voice scathingly hysterical as he interrupted. "You're really using 'it's not you, it's me'? Really?" _

_"But it _is_!" Arthur shouted, his brows furrowing in frustration and throwing is hand up. "It _is_ me, Francis! You deserve better than me!" His hand ran through his hair again, mussing it further than it normally was. "What we had was _amazing,_" he said, sounding tired. "One of the most amazing relationships I've ever had." _

_He watched Arthur, lips set in a tight frown, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "But..?" Because there was always a _but.

_"But I'm in love with someone else." _

_Time seemed to slow, and he was definitely having trouble breathing through the onslaught of emotion as he digested those seven words from Arthur's lovely lips. He stared at them, full and pink in his bright lighting, set in a thin line that wasn't quite a grimace. They were very soft lips, with the power to bring him happiness, make his heart stutter when they curled up in a smirk, or make his knees shake when they stretched into a smile, white teeth peeking out from behind them. _

_They insulted him, praised him, comforted him, laughed with him, cried with him; whispered sweet nothings into his hair when they laid together on a quite night; parted to let out the most delicious screams when they made love. _

_It seemed only right that they could bring such crushing pain as well. _

_"When?" he finally managed, his voice shaking nearly as much as his legs at the moment. _

_Arthur turned away, looking defeated at the wall. "I met him about two months ago," he replied quietly. "He'd knocked me down in the rush to work and insisted on buying me coffee to make it up for putting me on my arse in a muddy puddle. _

_"I've never felt what he makes me feel, Francis, and all he's done is smile at me." Arthur looked at him then, his eyes shining and a small smile on his lips. "That's why it's me. You deserve someone who feels the way I do for him, for you." _

_He watched numbly as Arthur turned to the door, opening it and slipping out into the night with all the grace of a professional thief. Because the Englishman still managed to slip out with the remains of his heart. _

_He stood for an immeasurable amount of time, just staring at his door, the engine of Arthur's bike long since silent into the distance. He could feel the tracks of the tears on his face, but he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away. _

_He hadn't thought it would hurt this much. _

_He hadn't realized he was so completely in love. _

_And now it was over. _

_Eventually, he turned on his heel and made his way to his bedroom. He wasn't sure how he got there, or even how he managed to undress enough to be comfortable before falling onto the bed, the cool sheets enveloping like the embrace of Death. He chuckled self-deprecatingly to himself, finding the comparison fitting. _

_His phone rang at least twice a day for the next three weeks, though he didn't bother answering. He couldn't; he didn't have the right words for his friends, the words to reassure him he was fine. They knew he wasn't. _

_It was another three weeks before he finally had had enough of the constant buzzing and his stupid ringtone, finally picking up and holding the device to his ear as he slumped on his sofa. _

_"What, Gil?" _

_"You know, you sound like shit, Frankie. I think you need to get out."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Gil. Just what I wanted to hear." _

_"Of course, man! Hey, me and Tonio are heading over to that bar that's about a block away from your place. We'll see you there, or I'm dragging you out of that stuffy flat, pants or not."_

_"Really, Gil, I don't want—"_

_"It's time we hung out, man! We miss you. Drinks on us!"_

_He sighed as Gilbert hung up without waiting for a response, deliberately taking away his chance to refuse. He kept his gaze towards his phone, though he was staring through it as his mind wandered. It occurred to him that sitting in his apartment really wasn't helping, and why refuse free alcohol? _

_Standing and shoving his phone in his pocket, he grabbed his keys from the table and locked the door on his way out._

"And a guy walks into a bar!"

Gilbert and Antonio collapsed into fits of guffaws once again, and Francis felt like he was going to be sick. He stared into his wine a moment before setting it down and sliding to the edge of the booth.

"Excuse me, _mes amis._ I'll be right back." He jumped up quickly, walking away towards the restrooms to get away from the two idiots he called his friends, breathing heavily as he forced back the stinging tears he could feel behind his eyes.

Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, Francis made his way to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools, deciding he needed a moment or two longer away from the insensitivity that was his friends' drunken senses of humor. He let his head fall forward onto the cool wood of the bar top, inhaling the scent of liquor and lacquer.

"Rough night?"

Francis glanced up at the soft voice, meeting the indigo eyes of the young bartender smiling sympathetically at him. He scoffed, his lips stretching into a grimace. "You know, that was my opening line to him, too."

The bartender immediately dropped his smile, looking apologetic as he continued wiping clean the glass in his hands. "Bad breakup?"

"Understatement of the year."

He chuckled, though Francis found it to be soothing and not at all mocking. "It typically is," the bartender replied, setting the glass aside for another. "May I ask what happened?"

Francis inhaled slowly through his nose, nodding as he answered. "He said he was in love with someone else."

"That would do it, eh." He set the second glass aside, leaning on his elbows in front of Francis. "Can I get you anything?"

Francis shook his head. "No, _merci, chère._ My friends are drunk enough for everyone in the room, including me." He gestured to his table, Gilbert's head thrown back in yet another round of laughter and Antonio's once again down on the table.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "They look quite merry," he observed with a grin.

Francis nodded. "_Oui_, they've been telling jokes nonstop since arriving." His smile slipped. "Very poor jokes, but jokes nonetheless."

Indigo eyes watched him sadly. "Hit close to home with one of them?"

Francis nodded again, setting his chin on his palm. "You could say. Joke's on me, though."

"One of those you should've seen coming, eh?"

"Indeed," Francis mused quietly, eyes trailing over the rest of the bar as his mind wandered again.

The bartender smiled at him one more time, leaning back to head down the bar and tend to some of the other patrons, and Francis remained on the stool until closing time was called, unwilling to return to the inebriated asses he'd come with. He was going to have to drag them back to his apartment anyway to sleep off the hangovers, and he was not looking forward to it, as much as he loved them.

Before standing, the bartender came over once again, pulling something out of his pocket and scribbling on it quickly before sliding it to Francis. "Have a nice night." His smile was timid, and Francis found it to be extremely cute.

Francis nodded with a smile of his own, pocketing the napkin and walking back to his friends, hauling them up and out the door, managing to keep them fairly upright down the block to his flat and up the stairs, where he dumped them on the ground as he dug out his key and opened the door. He let them stumble in after him, both of them heading for the sofa in the timeless routine they'd kept each time they got pissed out of their minds.

Francis made his way to his bedroom, tossing his jacket onto the floor and slipping out of his shoes, sitting on the edge of his bed. He pulled the napkin out of his pants and examined it, reading the slightly smudged ink with squinted eyes in the bedside lamp's dim light:

_If you need someone to talk to, I'm a great listener.  
><em>_We can go out for coffee, if you'd like. Bars are kind of overrated._

— _Matthew  
><em>_xxx-xxxx_

_I'm pretty sure I know some better jokes, too. _

Francis grinned and laughed for the first time since Arthur.

_END_

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><p><strong>Note: <strong>The "joke" Gilbert was telling was the chorus to the song that inspired this fic. Also, implied/hinted Franada at the end there (and you're just supposed to know Arthur left Francis for Alfred because I love USUK and of course he left Francis for Alfred. Duh).


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